I Came Here

in a ninth century
sports car formerly
owned by Ivar the Boneless.

It runs on ice water
and has a Viking horn
hood ornament.

I drove through words,
my tires hissing words
over hills of words.

The ribbon of asphalt
snapped me to you
like a whip.

I flew over mountains in a toy
airplane losing my hair
on the bald peaks,

it’s rubber band engine
whirring like cicadas after
a twelve year nap,

revved up and hungry,
a spinning dervish
dizzy for your love.

I climbed without fear
the hollow blue of loneliness
into inner space.

My mind sucked
into a vacuum, my eyes
smoldering like falling stars.

I put my breath
behind me
to move on.

I rode the Titanic through
iceberg after iceberg
each the size of a hundred

Manhattans to find you.
I stayed mostly underwater,
held my breath for centuries,

floated face down
cold as a splintered reed
in the icy heart

of a saxophone.
Now I open like fog
in the sunlight,

with your hand
warm on my shoulder
I turn to meet your lips.

Each day all is new.
The ancient sax
howls outside my sun

splashed window
thick and golden as honey,
brings me to hear again.


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